


When Shame and Literature Collide (The Dixter Drabbles)

by ghostofadrunkensailor (animejunkie12)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Flirting, Car Sex, Ghosts, Grimmons, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Non-Linear Storyline, Psychic Abilities, bad metaphors, pretending to be in a relationship AU, there are alternate universes in this fic set
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animejunkie12/pseuds/ghostofadrunkensailor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A growing collection of 3am one-shots involving my favorite Maroon/Orange duo. </p><p>Prepare yourself for intense, passion-fueled mediocrity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. P(roses)

If everyone hadn't noticed Simmons's behavior before, then they certainly saw it when the flowers came in. 

It was nothing too subtle, much like Simmons and Grif's friendship. You know that kind of friendship, where people joke about it's possibility for romance. The kind where those people still turn and look to see that yes, they're always a breath apart and yes, he's smiling so gently at him and yes, that's how it should be. 

Despite the red tinted fog around them, there was constant bickering between them. Anything and everything, from animals to time travel to the word "both", all of it got them at shouting at each other. All in all, it would be called good fun and a balance would settle back in place. 

The first bouquet arrived in Simmons’s arms during valentines day. A small arrangement of pink roses, he gave them to the owner of the diner where they worked. At the time, everyone had assumed Simmons to be shy or rude. He was there to snark and keep Grif on his toes. It was then that some of us saw Simmons differently, because there was no one who gave flowers in this day and age and didn’t care about others. Grif still called Simmons a kiss-ass, and then said nothing about it for the rest of the shift. The flowers would leave the diner just after they started to wilt, but it marked the beginning of a trend. 

Yellow roses during Easter, and Grif grimaced in annoyance as the bouquet was twice as big as the last. This one was for the wait-staff, a flower for each, even the waitress that only came in on every other Tuesday. Grif thought nothing of it, not until the end of the night, when Simmons handed Grif a yellow rose with red tips. Grif laughed at him, doing that fake-flirt he always does when it starts to get too real. Grif’s flower would stay in a glass of water long after it wilted. 

May, and lavender roses had ended up at Grif’s station. He raised an eyebrow at Simmons, who just chuckled and said, “Because you love them, oh, so much.” Grif threw a mop at him. He would look up rose colors when Simmons was cleaning in a different room. 

The heat of July 4th had caused all of what happened that night. At least, that’s what Grif and Simmons would say. Red and white roses for the occasion, turning a run-down backyard barbeque to a suburban backyard barbeque that was being run by a group of rowdy drunks. The party looked so fun that the neighbors had probably called the cops, and Grif and Simmons climbed to the top of the diner’s roof for whatever reason. They stayed up there for a long time, staring at the illegal fireworks being set off and contemplating life, just like they had done since they were teenagers. Grif could laugh this night off later, he decided, as he laid as close to Simmons’s side as possible. 

In the Grif’s own humid apartment, he would remember how Valentine’s Day wasn’t the first time. 

An orange rose on New Year’s Eve. Given to Grif behind the diner not a few minutes before midnight. He was speechless, they both were as Simmons rubbed the back of his neck and glanced around. One of them would open to say something, but Grif didn’t remember who had tried. All he remembered was his hands bringing Simmons closer to him, filling the gap that was always only a breath between them. He wasn’t sure if he had kissed anyone quite like that, pressed so hard and filled with too much emotion. It wouldn’t be until the cheering of a new year that Grif would open his eyes and unball his fists from Simmons’s shirt. Grif would step back, and they would never bring it up again.


	2. P(roses): A Driven Kind of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love these two dorks.

He had been so close before, but never like this. It was just another ride home after work, with small talk and the casual insult going over radio static. But throughout it, there were more glances, lingering looks from across the car. Tension that refused to lessen, and Grif turned the radio off as the car rolled to a stop. 

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Simmons blinked at him. “Sure.”

“It’s just,” He paused, and then sighed loudly. “I’ve been thinking about New Years. And the roses.” Simmons felt his throat go dry. 

“Okay.” 

He sighed again, more aggravated. “Okay. Yeah, okay. I don’t know how you manage to treat all of this like it’s okay, but somehow you do.” Grif stared at the steering wheel. 

“Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow.” His heart beat fast in his chest as he hopelessly tried to keep his cool. He should have known that the flowers were too much, too obvious. Part of the whole act had been fun, but Simmons could tell it was getting awkward and heavy. He reached to open his door. “I need sleep, man. I’ll text you in the morning.” 

Grif placed a hand on Simmons’s arm, turning to look at him. “Wait a second. I’m sorry.” He clutched his arm tighter. “Don’t go.” 

Simmons turned to face Grif, who was leaning close to Simmons, closer than what was normal. “Grif?” He leaned towards Grif, so very, very close that the breath between them staled as they both held it. 

“I just need to know.” And Grif closed his eyes, waited for anything. And Simmons closed the gap between them. Lips gently pressed together, the kiss was as fragile their hearts. New Years had been passionate, but it didn’t compare to this type of intimacy. And as they pulled away from each other, Simmons saw something he had never seen before in Grif’s dark eyes. 

He hoped that Grif could see it in Simmons’s eyes as well. 

Grif smiled slowly, and leaned back into his seat. “You should probably get some sleep, then.” He regretted saying it, but that was the adult thing to say. The right thing to do would be to leave the car, Simmons thought. He stayed for a moment more, wanting to ask if he wanted to come inside, to talk about this, to stay with Simmons for the rest of his life. Simmons left the car and walked to his front door. He heard the car start up, and wondered if he should have told Grif everything. Confessed every single moment where he was so close to kissing Grif, every moment where he desperately wanted to. How he wanted to be that close to him all the time, how he couldn’t bear when he wasn’t. 

And as he saw the car drive out of view, he still hoped through the ache in his chest.


	3. Matches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He used to be called a ghost pianist, said he played only in a dead music hall. In truth, Dexter just missed the past.  
> Meanwhile, Richard finds himself staying after hours just to hear the playing, and falls for the player.

Details, tiny and light. My mother used to say that it’s the little things that make us human. Soft hands, a faint smile, dust on a once beloved object. Big ideas and concepts drive us, fuel our emotions. But certain details leave an etching in our character, and stay with you for the rest of your life. 

I remember fighting to keep my grandmother’s study untouched, until the day I finally bought the house she used to live in. Church clothes, stacks of paper alongside the printer my dad had bought for her, and an endless amount of candles. I sighed as I recalled what she told me when I asked about them. 

“It calms my nerves, I reckon,” Her eyes always smiling, “takes me back.” Then she would relax her fingers and play the piano for me until I fell asleep.  
There was the click of a door opening behind me and I saw my sister come in. She straightened out her shirt and threw an arm over my shoulders. “Well, this is it, then.” She looked around. “Little dusty. Are you sure you want to live here?”

“I didn’t use all that money on a whim, Kai.” 

“Of course not. Hey,” she grinned at me, “maybe you could even get back into music here. Get yourself a new piano, really settle into things.” 

I laughed under my breath. “Yeah. If I have the time.”  
\--------------

That had been three weeks ago, and I had managed a small job cleaning some music hall. It was enough to keep me going in my new house, at the cost of living on TV dinners and tap water. 

I checked my watch, almost time to close. Probably should get going, but I linger around the instruments and halls just a little longer. Remembering all the small details that led me to brushing my hands over dirty lights in a dead silent auditorium. 

And there it was, a piano alone in a room, in front of me. Despite my own insecurities, the yearning was still there. The idea that no matter what I did, playing was be a part of myself, something that I can always count on. 

I let out a long breath, and lightly pressed my fingers onto the keys.  
\----------  
Faint music had started playing in the other room as Richard was packing up his supplies. He looked towards the door, curious. The sound was not boasting nor clumsy, but so soft it almost couldn’t be heard. Despite hearing pianos nearly every day there was something about the rhythm that pulled him in. Carefully, he pushed the door to the hall open. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the person sitting at piano in the corner. Each note that was played felt cherished, and the hands on the keyboard never gained any speed. His eyes were closed, fingers falling into the slowest song Richard had ever heard. Richard felt his own eyes soften, and let out the breath he had been holding. 

They both stayed like that for what must have been only a few minutes. When the music did stop, Richard realized that he had also closed his eyes. He opened them quickly, embarrassed about how easily he had let his guard down. Shuffling, he adjusted the bag on his shoulder and considered leaving, until he saw that the man sitting at the piano had not stood up. He sat slightly hunched over, staring at his feet. 

Hesitantly, Richard spoke up. “Uhm, excuse me...”.

“Oh!” The man looked up, and then hopped to his feet awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I was just trying it out. Heh.” He rubbed his neck and kept his eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Do you play?”

He shrugged. “I used to. Been too busy lately.” He looked at Richard, his face flushed. “I should probably go.”

As he started walking, Richard remembered my own job and walked with him. “I have to lock up here anyways.” He explained.

They paused at the door as it was locked, and Richard looked at the other man. “You know, there’s usually a whole hour before it closes where no one ever comes by. If you wanted to practice or anything.” 

“Really?” 

“Yep.” He waited as the man mulled it over, and then added “But on one condition.”

“What is it?”

Richard paused, didn’t know what he was saying. “Tell me your name.” 

The other man smiled back. “It’s Dexter.”


	4. Dumb Luck and Dumb Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons do some wholesome friendly bonding in a car. (NSFW Warning)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After months of this fic being rated higher than it should have been, I've finally made it worth it's rating.   
> Also, I should really stop writing so late at night, it's going to be the death of me. 
> 
> (Again, NSFW Warning)

There was hardly any talking as Simmons ran his hands up the front of Grif’s shirt. Their kisses got more invasive and demanding as Grif grasped the back of Simmons’s head as he pulled himself on top of Simmons. 

If you asked either of them what led to this, they wouldn’t be able to answer. It was blurry, a hot panic that started before they got in the car and left them in the backseat. 

Now they were rocking back and forth, slightly too into the feeling of grinding their crotches together to stop. Grif pushed up Simmons’s shirt, brushed his thumb over a nipple and was rewarded with a groan. 

Had it been an argument gone oh, so right? Had the fake flirting gone too far? As Simmons pulled off Grif’s shirt, he wondered: Does that matter right now?

Grif leaned into Simmons’s neck, finding the sensitive skin where his neck met his ear and gently sucking on it. He chuckled, enjoying the noises the redhead made as he let Grif take over. The steam from their breath coated the windows, giving them some semblance of privacy in wherever Grif had parked.

Simmons’s voice was impatient. “Come on...” he moaned, and tugged his jeans down far enough for Grif to get a full view. Grif leaned back and straddled Simmon’s hips, before running his hand over the soft cloth that covered Simmons’s erection. Simmons’s couldn’t stop himself from arching into his hand.

He squirmed underneath Grif as he slid his hand underneath his underwear, groping and prodding in a way that made Simmons gasp. He cursed out loud when Grif’s hand suddenly stopped moving, and Grif pulled his underwear down past his knees. Simmons felt himself burning up with embarrassment as he stared at his now exposed cock. 

Grif pulled his own garments out of the way and pressed his erection against Simmons’s. Grif’s toes curled as Simmons reached a hand down and gripped both of their erections. Before Grif could move, Simmons laughed under his breath.

“What?” Grif asked. 

“I didn’t think this is what was gonna happen.” 

Grif giggled too and leaned down to kiss him. ‘You’re ruining the mood.” They kissed again, and Grif whimpered into his mouth as they started to move against each other. Grif started panting in Simmons’s ear, and used his own hand to touch every inch that Simmons couldn’t. Simmons’s grip got tighter as he bucked against Grif, short moans lacing through his heavy breathing. It didn’t take long before Simmons started to fall apart.   
“Grif, please-” He cut himself off with a yelp as Grif put a strong hand on his hip and ground him into the seat. Simmon’s foot hit a window or door as his cock twitched from the pleasure. Grif started to come before he did, with a long and deep moan. Simmons felt the pressure in his cock tighten to the breaking point, and he convulsed against Grif as he rode out the aftershocks. He shivered, and laid back into the seat for a few minutes. Grif laid on top of him, both of them too tired to move. 

Eventually, Grif helped Simmons clean up with some fast food napkins (to Simmons’s dismay). Simmons left the car a little wobbly, before turning around and leaning back into the car. He looked at Grif wistfully. 

“Is this going to be one of those things that we don’t talk about at all?” 

Grif shrugged, then leaned forward to give Simmons a peck on the cheek. “Probably.” He wiped the steam off the windshield and started the car. “See you at work.” 

Even as he walked to his house with shaking legs, Simmons couldn’t help but be infuriated.


	5. The Marriage Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grif and Simmons make bad decisions, but 100 dollars is 100 dollars, man...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! This work here has grown so much from a small drabble, its now its own work! As a result, I've created a new fic just for it, to avoid cluttering this one with more chapters. 
> 
> If you're interested, go check out "The Marriage Bet" on my Works page. This fic will stay a collection of drabbles and smaller than my usual chapters. I'll also post something similar to this on each of the subsequent chapters, for posterity's sake.

If you need to know anything about Grif, his entire personality boils down to two things: he won’t do anything actually productive, but will do anything if it’s a bet. It didn’t help that most bets ended with pain or vomiting or both. But Grif was as steel-willed and stupid as people could get, especially if it meant an extra 50 bucks. 

Which was how he ended up faking a marriage with Simmons for three and half weeks in the middle of wedding season. It was the beginning of June when a friend of his proposed (pun intended) the idea. Grif said he would never get married, but every season he would joke around the thought with his sister. Until one season, when yet another friend pulled Kai and Grif to the side to announce her engagement. 

“Well, I guess that means that I am officially the only single person out of everyone I know.” Kai snarked as she took a sip of her beer. 

Grif furrowed his brow. “Wait, what about me?” 

“What about you? You’ve got Simmons, don’t you?” 

Grif snorted in disbelief, but failed to look chill when he hesitated to reply. “You know I can’t stand Simmons.” 

“Then why do you two go to every wedding together?” 

Grif sipped the last of his beer, and walked to the fridge to look for more. “It’s a routine we have. I pretend to bring him back a second plate of food, and then eat it along the way. You can’t imagine how many cubes of ham and cheese I can scarf in 30 seconds.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s somehow disgusting and kind of admirable.” She finished off her own beer, and stared at it for a second. As if she saw something devious on the front label, she grinned darkly. “Say, are you gonna go to that wedding with him, then.” 

“You know it. Gotta get my processed food fix.” He found another beer in the back of the fridge and popped it’s top. 

“How about a bet?” Grif stopped the bottle and inch from his mouth. 

“I’m game.” He smirked. “What are we talking?” 

Kai paused, and held up a hand. “Two seconds.” She shouted into another room. “Simmons! Get in here!” 

Simmons entered the kitchen, and Kai’s grin got wider. “I have a bet for the both of you.” Simmons sighed, but didn’t leave. “100 dollars each.”  
Both of their ears perked. That was larger than any bet Grif had ever taken. Grif set down his beer. “Now I’m really game.” 

Kai held up four fingers. “There are four weddings going on in the next couple of months. And since you two are so good at cheating people out of horderves, I want you to make it a little more realistic.” She paused for dramatic effect. “All you have to do is pretend you’re married, or engaged, or banging. Whatever. In a relationship. For this wedding season.” She crossed her arms smugly. 

It still hadn’t hit Simmons fully by the time that Grif said yes, but when it did, it hit hard. “Wait, what does that mean? Like, act like a couple? Tricking people for extra food is one thing, but isn’t this a little too far?” 

Kai pulled out two twenty dollar bills. “I’ll give this to you if you start tomorrow.” 

Simmons had his bags packed three hours later, and was wheeling them into Grif’s apartment not thirty minutes after that.


	6. The Marriage Bet: So This Is How It Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week one isn't that bad. Except for those moments when the reality sets in and you wonder how anybody lets you make decisions and how you aren't dead yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is a reminder that "The Marriage Bet" has turned into its own work! Feel free to check it out if dumb bets and unresolved romantic tension is your thing.

The first week was somehow the easiest and worst for both Grif and Simmons. Easy because, they had stayed with each other for other reasons, so much so that there was already room for Simmons's stuff (and some of Simmons's stuff already there). But it progressively became the worst as it sunk in that they really were in it for the long haul. 

"I think I'm still processing how stupid this actually is." Simmons laughed under his breath as he packed the rest of his clothes into the drawer he had already claimed long ago. "I mean, could we really act like a couple for a whole two months?" He asked Grif as he put the suitcase in the closet, pushing it past the old shirts that Simmons left at Grif's house, and never bothered to take home. 

Grif had a mouthful of the chinese food that they had gotten on the way back. "It might be a little weird, but a hundred bucks is a lot of money in my world. By the way, here's your low sodium teriyaki chicken." He passed over a different, slightly soggy package of food. 

"Thanks, uhm..." Simmons stopped himself from saying something else, but eventually picked his words back up from the floor. "So, uh, should we have pet names for each other, or anything?" 

"Like what?" Grif eloquently spat out bits of food as he spoke. 

"I don't know, like..." Simmons scrambled for words. "I mean, I always thought 'babe' sounded sweet."

Grif snorted. "Really? You're gonna call me 'babe'?" 

Simmons huffed, his face a lightish red of embarrassment. "Hey, I'm making an effort." He started picking at the package of food, and sat down on Grif's bed. "Besides, what were you gonna call me?"

"'Bro'." 

"Just bro? Don't you have any other ideas?" 

"Variations of 'bro'." 

Right, Simmons thought. This wasn't going to be easy, was it? If Simmons was really honest with himself, nothing was ever easy if it involved Grif. "Maybe we should try taking this seriously." 

Grif gave him an odd look. "I am taking this seriously bro." 

"Stop that." Simmons had been picking at his food for the entire time, hardly eating any. He placed it on the bed spread and laid back with his arms stretched out to his sides. 

"Hey, be careful with that. I don't want the sheets to smell like soy sauce." 

Simmons rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Grif, you eat food in bed almost every day. Your mattress is half cotton and half crumbs." He felt a weight on the other side of the bed, and saw a mess of brown curls laid down in the corner of his eye. He kicked one foot, remarking at how he used to lay with his feet dangling off of a hotel bed after a long day of enduring ceremonies and class reunions. This type of relaxing did feel familiar to him on some level. 

So why was he so nervous? Grif spoke up, in that sleepy voice that he got after gorging himself on food. "We don't have to sleep in the same bed if you don't want to." That was a little relieving to Simmons, but he loathed to think of sleeping on Grif's battered futon. 

"I don't mind. As long as you don't fall in love with me." Grif chuckled at that, and Simmons felt the tension in his gut lessen. He was just overthinking it, afterall. He sat up, and picked up the carton of food that had gone cold. 

Grif shifted under the blanket, about to fall asleep. "I'll try." He yawned. "Hey, I'm gonna turn in. I'll see you in the morning." 

Simmons was at the door when he replied. "Alright, I'll do the same in a little bit. Night, Grif." 

He was two steps out of the door when he heard Grif murmur. "Night, sweetheart." Simmons laughed, but he got to the kitchen and let out the breath he had been holding. 

This was going to be much, much harder than Simmons first realized. 

\------------

Grif snores. It was one of the more aggravating things about Grif, because Simmons knew Grif couldn't control it. And he refused to wear those nose strips, convinced that only nerds wore them. So Simmons had to suffer in silence for the first few times that he had slept over at Grif's house. Earplugs were as important to Simmons as air and water after that. 

So it makes sense that he wouldn't have heard Grif get out of bed the next morning. He rubbed his eyes as he smelled something cooking in the kitchen. 

He strolled into the kitchen to find Grif cooking, which was a rare enough sight. He was used to leftovers and microwaved food in the morning. “Good morning.” 

Grif smirked. “Morning.”  
“What’s all this?” Simmonds gestured to the stove and dangerously high stack of pancakes. 

“Isn’t it obvious, Simmons?” He turned to Simmons and grinned. 

After a short silence, Simmons replied. “...No?” 

Grif sighed, and flipped over another pancake. “It’s our honeymoon!” 

Simmons started to grin as well. “Oh, jeez, come on.” 

“Hey, I gotta make an effort too.” Grif grabbed a can of whipped cream that was probably meant for the pancakes and filled his mouth with it. 

Simmons pulled up a chair. “Yeah? Are you gonna clean all this up, too?” 

Grif made a face and waved his hand around dismissively. “Ehhhh...”

“That’s what I figured.” He rubbed his neck, and looked outside the window. The view from Grif’s place wasn’t awful, but there wasn’t much to it either. Just a small forest with a large, chain link fence. As he was questioning why someone needed to put a fence around a forest, a plate slid in front of him. It was piled high enough to be put in a cereal commercial, and covered in a few strawberries drowning in whipped cream. He smiled despite how odd he still felt. “This looks awesome, man.” 

Grif took his own plate and sat across from him. “Man? What happened to ‘babe’?” He joked. 

Simmons let out a nervous laugh. “I’m still adjusting. I’ll get into the swing of things eventually, ‘sweetheart’.” He put emphasis on the last word, and Grif raised his eyebrows as he started to dig into his pancakes. The ate in a comfortable silence, and when they finished Grif took something out of his pocket and slid it across the table. 

It looked like a pamphlet of some sort, and Simmons picked it up and gave it a curious once-over. “What’s this?” 

“Just some new museum that opened a month or so back. I thought it would fit pretty well.” 

Simmons looked confused. “Fit well? For what?” 

Grif shrugged. “For our date.” 

Simmons tried not to choke on the last of his pancakes, and looked up at Grif. He was beaming. “A date.” 

“How else are we gonna announce our relationship?” 

“Oh boy. Ooooh boy.” And that was all the Simmons could say before everything really clicked into place.


	7. The Marriage Bet: The Top 5 Moments You Have When Your Friend Overshares On Facebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Number 3 will surprise you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you over there! Yeah, you with the face! This prompt has turned into its own work, with a title and tags and everything! Its practically won the fanfiction lottery! If you liked these past three chapters, go check out "The Marriage Bet" in my Works page. 
> 
> I promise that after this reminder, there will be no more, as extra chapters for "The Marriage Bet" will be uploaded there instead of here. I like to keep the chapters as clean as possible. Meanwhile, any chapters after this one will go back to the same inconsistent story structure that you all know and love. Thanks!

But of course Simmons agreed to go. He did give a weird look when Grif offered to pay for the tickets- “you know you have to act believable”-, but accepted it anyways. The sky was clear, and Simmons couldn’t help his excitement. It wasn’t often that he did go to museums, he never seemed to have the time or energy to go. He paused at the door, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, before shutting it off. Grif looked at him strangely. "I just didn't want to get distracted." Bet or not, Simmons did find himself wanting to enjoy today. 

Grif nodded, and turned his phone off as well. They went inside, and found it nearly full with patrons. Everyone stared at different pieces of art, quietly chatting and moving on. It would have been a serene experience for Simmons, if Grif had actually stopped talking. 

"Look at that guys face in the background." Grif pointed at a shocked looking man in the back of one oil painting. 

Simmons relented this time, and looked where Grif was pointing. "He looks like he just realized he's in a painting." 

Grif chuckled. "He's like, 'Oh god help me I can't move! This is terrible!'" 

Simmons snorted loudly, earning a few dark looks from other guests. "'Oh, why couldn't I have been in a Jackson Pollock painting?'" They wouldn't stop giggling until they moved to another hallway. 

Simmons stood in front of another picture with a pensive look on his face. "But what does it mean?" 

Grif paused before looking confused. "What?" 

"I just don't know what the artist was trying to convey." Simmons stressed the words again, and held his chin like he was trying to be a serious critic. 

"Simmons, it's a tree." 

"But what does it mean?" Simmons stressed the words again, and Grif couldn't tell if he was being serious or not. "It could be a tree, it could be something entirely else." 

"Wha- Simmons. This is a photograph." 

Simmons held his pose for a few seconds before a goofy smile appeared on his face. "I mean, you don't know that."

"It says the camera information in this little label here." 

"It could be a picture of something that looks close to a tree but isn't." 

"I swear to God, Simmons." He tried to keep himself from breaking into laughter again, but it wasn't easy. He looked over at Simmons, glad he had chosen a museum. At boring as Simmons seemed, it was a testament to him that they could find the humor in anything. He looked back at the tree, and smirked. "Do you think this is the same guy that was in that other painting?" 

Simmons laughed out loud. "'Oh no, now I'm a tree! This day is just the worst!'" 

Grif's laughter was contagious once it started. As they tried to calm themselves down, something caught Grif's eye. "Hey, look over there." 

Simmons, still giddy, looked past Grif. "Is that Donut?" Simmons then remembered why they were here, and stiffened up. "Hey, maybe we should go before he sees us." 

"Why?" Grif asked, before he finally got it. "Ah, hmm. Maybe. We're almost out of art to look at anyways, let's just- He's coming over here." Grif held a hand up to wave at Donut, who had seen them already. Simmons choked down the lump in his throat. This was just a casual thing, afterall. It's not like Donut would suspect anything. 

"Hey guys!" Donut was grinning wide. "Here to enjoy the art? You know, I never thought you'd be one for museums, Grif." 

"Well, you know. It sounded like fun. And Simmons likes them." Simmons himself was closer to dying on the spot, as he heard Grif start to explain to Donut what was going on. 

"Oh, don't you two worry. Your sister told me EVERYTHING." Grif stopped moving altogether. "And I am SO happy for you! I shouldn't say that I saw it coming, but..." He trailed off, a smug smile on his face. 

"She did, did she?" Grif replied flatly, and Simmons kept himself from laughing at Grif's shock. 

"So! I'm convinced that I was supposed to see you two today! To give you both advice and support for the future!" Donut ignored how uncomfortable both of them looked at this idea and kept going. "But first, we need to announce it!" 

"Well, yes, but me and Grif were thinking-" Simmons tried to interrupt but Donut wasn't stopping for anything. 

"I know, you want to but you don't know where to start. Gosh, I got here at just the right time. Now, let's get a picture of the cute couple!" Simmons patted his pocket, and remembered his phone was off. 

"Oh no, both out phones are off... How unfortunate..." Simmons was slowly trying to back up, motioning to Grif that they should REALLY get going before things got worse. 

Donut swung his arms around Grif and Donut, and pulled out his own phone. "No worries, Donut is here to save the day! Smile!" He didn't even look at the photo and he stashed his phone in his pocket before either of them could take it and set it on fire. 

Simmons pinched the bridge of his nose, and looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh, look at the time! I almost completely forgot about that very important thing that we have to do soon." He grabbed Grif's shoulder, and raised his eyebrows at him.

"Oh, right! The really important thing that we can't miss, how could I forget? Alright Donut, we'll see you later." 

"Okay! If you guys need anything, let me know." He cupped his face with one hand and sighed blissfully. “Ah, to be young and in love.” 

Simmons pulled Grif away before he retched at the gesture. they did laugh about it in the car later, on their way back to Grif’s place. “Do you think he’ll have our wedding invitations planned by the end of this season?”

“I think he already has a stack of them printed.” Simmons replied. He hesitated to mention something else, and instead focused on checking on the phone he had just turned back on. 

Grif picked it up instead. “I know we were gonna try and tell people we were ‘together’,” Grif enunciated the air quotes, “I just got distracted.” 

“It’s okay. Besides,” Simmons smiled at his phone. “I had fun.” 

“Yeah?” Grif perked up. “Well, then I guess it wasn’t a failure. And hey, we did tell one person. Kindof. All we need to do is be careful, make a few Facebook posts, and we’re 2 steps away from 200 dollars. After we- wait, are you okay?” 

Simmons had been staring at his phone’s screen without moving, but now had a hand covering his eyes. He shook his head a bit, and moved his hand to read the screen once more. “Donut just posted that picture.”

“And?” Grif asked nervously. 

“And we no longer have to make our relationship Facebook official.” Simmons sighed through his nose as he read the very sappy photo caption. “It’s got 34 likes.” He didn’t have the nerve to read the twelve comments below it. 

Grif snorted again. “Goddammit, Donut.” Grif’s phone was still off, and he wondered if he could get away with keeping it off so he wouldn’t have the read the texts that he was most likely getting. “Should we still change our statuses?” 

“Eh, later.” Simmons shut the screen off and leaned back in his seat. “Let’s go home.” 

“You’re not worried about it?”

“I’m taking a page from your book: I’ll deal with it later.” 

Grif glanced over at Simmons again and almost looked proud. “Wow, it’s only been one day and I’m already a bad influence on you.” And they rode back in a tired, comfortable silence.


	8. If I Told You That I Saw You In My Dreams, Would I Be Coming On Too Strong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precognitive dreaming can be a real hassle sometimes. It's like the idea of fate being shoved in your face when all you wanna do is eat pancakes and forget about all the mistakes you've made in life.

As much of a skeptic as Grif was about most supernatural things, he always had that one exception. You know, the exception that almost every non-professional skeptic has, regardless of how much they tell others that they don't believe in anything else. It must be nice, Grif reasoned, that these exceptions never rear their ugly head whenever they wanted.

Precognitive dreaming, it was called. Some called it the ability to see the future through dreaming, others called it being 'warned of future dangers' and being 'given the chance to change the outcome'. Grif called it bullshit. Like someone could actually see the future, much less control it. Yet, there were times. And it was always the most mundane things. The first time he ever saw something, he was in another state he had never even been in before, visiting friends in an old, cold suburb despite living an entire life by the ocean and only seeing crowded seaside boardwalks. He looked down and saw a chipped away sidewalk with plants trying desperately to grow through the concrete. Then he remembered, he had dreamed about that same perspective, down to the damn weeds that formed a wobbly diagonal crack in the block. He wanted it to be a coincidence, some strange deja vu. 

But then it kept happening, while he thought something was seriously wrong with him. Deja vu that specific was normal when you never did anything special with your life in the first place. But traveling, reading new books, knowing how someone was going to respond because you remember what hasn't even happened yet. It never slowed. He didn't even have the chance to experiment with it, all lucid dreaming did was make him realize he was in a dream and start flying. Don't get him wrong, flying was cool, but it wasn't what he wanted. 

He laid awake in bed, red in the face and furious at himself. This wasn't even the first time he had a dream as specific as this. Granted, it had been about a different person, and a different setting. But it was nearly matched in the level of embarrassment Grif had when he woke up and remembered it. Like a new level of Hell tailored just for him, he turned on his side and revisited just what sort of sins he committed for this to happen. The phone on his bedside blinked with a notification, and Grif ignored it. 

It was... easier to blame Simmons. But it wasn't right, and it wouldn't solve anything to blame someone else for your own dreams. He looked at his phone, certain that it would be him if he checked it. This wasn't because of his dream, he just knew that Simmons was the only who would dare text him this early in the morning. 

The first time, he had liked that girl so much. God, he had liked her so much. Granted, he was a teenager, and at that age crushes were ten a penny. They never got any closer than close friends, but he never stopped thinking about her. Maybe that's what caused it. They were standing by each other's side in the dream, like they usually did. They talked for hours and wondered what was really out there, like they usually did. In his dream though, she gets closer than she usually would. He leans in, she smiles. They kiss. Grif's face didn't burn now the way it did when he first woke up from that dream, it flushed for a completely different reason. 

He picked up his phone. Surprise, surprise. Simmons was up much too early than what seemed normal for a human. And, yet again, he had assumed that Grif was just as inhuman. [Hey! What're you doing right now?]

He huffed. [sleeping]

[How are you texting me while sleeping?] 

[ >:| ]

[IHOP has half-off prices on pancakes all day.] 

Grif shot out of bed. Brooding could wait. [gimme half an hour] 

[ :D ] With that, Grif set his phone down. As he got ready, the events of the dream didn't fade, but they did become easier to justify. He had been hanging out with Simmons so often, his brain was bound to mess with him like that. Grif reached into his own basket of unmatched socks, picked two that looked similar enough, and rushed to the bathroom. While rinsing the awful taste in his mouth away, a realization came to mind: Some things in the dream had actually been different from that other one. And, the dream itself was mostly implausible. Grif and Simmons were just friends, and honestly there was no way that Grif could deal with Simmons every day if they were dating, much less as close friends. 

Simmons was five minutes early, waiting outside his car while Grif hadn't even combed his hair. He ran his hands through it, and casually sauntered out the door like he hadn't just ran around the house getting ready just for half-price pancakes. "There you are!" He smiled widely. 

"How are you even moving around at this hour?" 

Simmons raised an eyebrow at him. "Grif, it's 11:30." 

"Like I said, it's too early to even be alive right now." He slid into the passenger seat and relaxed back into the familiar leather. "You better be sure about those pancakes." 

"I am sure. I got an email about it today." 

Grif snorted. "You get email alerts from IHOP?"

Simmons looked up as he started the ignition. "Whuh- you told me to do it last time we were there!" 

"Didn't think you'd actually do it. You don't even like pancakes that much." 

Simmons shrugged. "Well, no. But you do." 

Rush hour traffic meant that Grif and Simmons would be stuck for a ten more minutes in the car before they could even get to their exit. Simmons sighed, while Grif flipped through the radio. Opting for a pop station that was sure to piss Simmons off, Grif leaned back. That was when another realization hit. 

"This song has been playing so much, everytime I hear it I think I die a little inside." Simmons complained, but didn't change the channel. There was no way. Okay, actually, there was. Popular, catchy songs get stuck in everyone's head. There was no coincidence that he heard that song in his dream. None at all. 

Simmons leaned back, and switched the engine off in the middle of the road. "We're not moving for a while." He sighed again. "Of course this would happen to me." 

Grif had to laugh, he felt the same way. "You and me both, man." Maybe if he remembered some important and fake appointment, he could get himself out of this. But, that didn't make any sense out of context. How would he leave if they couldn't even get to where they were going to go before? Grif had to calm down, remember that dreams are just dreams and it was all just superstition. Still, he didn't know if he could let this unfold the way he feared it would. 

He glanced over at Simmons, and something stopped his panicked thoughts. He spoke up, worried. "Hey, are you okay?" 

Simmons had his head resting against his hand, squinting past bright sun around them. "I'm just tired." He rubbed his eyes. "Didn't sleep very well." 

Grif hazarded a guess. "Bad dreams?" 

"Not really, just-" He seemed to stop himself. Simmons looked over at Grif, before quickly scanning the traffic jam in front of them. "Restless." 

For whatever reason, that struck a chord with Grif. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Simmons shook his head. "I'm okay, but thanks." he turned back to Grif, and there it was. That weary smile, the obnoxious music, the kind of hesitation one gets when they're about to make an irreversible decision. He waited, and then remembered that it was his turn to speak. 

"I'm here if you need me." 

Simmons's eyes widened. Taken aback, he stuttered. "Uh, I-I know." He looked back to the traffic quickly. No luck. It was different today, Grif knew that as much. Simmons should have been yelling at him for something trivial, because that was how they worked together. That was what they usually did. Brushing it off with a laugh, like they usually did. Lingering glances, never getting any more than that. In his seat, Simmons got closer to Grif than he usually did. Grif felt himself push against the tide of the inevitable, before he let it take him. He leaned in. Simmons let out a small, nervous laugh, and smiled at Grif. 

For once, Grif was grateful for his ability. Even if it was absolute hogwash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you guys heard of precognitive dreaming before? It's one of the more interesting types of psychic phenomena I've heard of. 
> 
> I guess I just wanted to try something new. I thought this idea was cool, so I wanted to explore it a little. I doubt it will get any farther than this. But it's a nice break. With the two other projects I've had going on, I sort of wanted a different perspective to refresh myself. Focusing for so long on one or two things is fun, and I'm loving how far along I've gotten. But I just couldn't resist a vaguely psychic Grif. Also, I've been trying to play with techniques like Anaphora, which you probably noticed with repetition all over the place. These drabbles are pretty nice for writing practice and playing with new devices.


	9. Mostly Ironic Cacophonic Circumlocomotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't believe Simmons is dead..."  
> "Stop telling everyone I'm dead!"   
> "Sometimes, I can still hear his voice."   
> Well, in this case Simmons 'is' dead. Not that it changes anything.

On the cold morning of April 30th, Dexter Grif awoke to the news that his long time friend and companion Richard Simmons had died. Yet as tragic as that statement may seem, there comes a certain rush after the storm of emotion. The waves of pain, shock, and utter disbelief only paled in comparison to the realization- 

“You know I’m not dead.” 

-to the realization that Grif was being haunted by his spirit. 

“And I’m ‘not’ a spirit.” 

Grif huffed in irritation for the third time since 11:00. Checking his clock (which read as 11:23), Grif snapped at the floating visage behind him. “Then how the hell do you explain the telepathy?” 

“It’s not telepathy if I already know what you’re going to say. It’s certainly not my problem you believe in ghosts.” 

Grif spun around in his chair, glaring at an image that was very, very much like Simmons. At least, the Simmons he knew before he had been run over by a semi-truck. For the first ten minutes, Grif hadn’t believed it either. Thought it to be intense denial, or just a straight up hallucination. God knows he hasn’t been sleeping well lately. He brought a hand up to his face, and rubbed his tired eyes awake. Maybe this time, the vision would leave and he could cope with the death of his friend like every other mourning person did. 

“We still need to figure this out. You know, instead of writing a eulogy for someone that hasn’t died.” 

“I swear to God if you weren’t already a ghost I would have killed you myself.” 

“Well, you’re in luck, because I’m not.” 

Simmons was- 

“Is.” 

There was another sigh, this one tighter between his grit teeth. Simmons is, and always will be, a skeptic. A lifetime of experiences and arguments with the man told him that Grif really shouldn’t be surprised at the fact that Simmons would deny his own death. Another set of experiences and all out shouting matches should have told him that it was pointless to argue the fact at all.

Grif didn’t listen to the last suggestion. He... never really listened to that one. “So what’s your fantastic idea on how you managed to get run over, walk away from yourself, and show up to my house?” 

Simmons interlaced his fingers. He took a deep, steady breath, like he had been waiting for this question from the moment he floated through Grif’s door. “Artificial Intelligence.” 

“You’ve gotta be kiddi-”

“No, listen!” Simmons waved his hands, motioning for Grif to pay attention. “We talked about this before. Obviously, my consciousness was uploaded into my body.” 

For the next 5 minutes Grif knew for a fact that Simmons would keep talking until he decided that he was somewhat done and had proved his point. However, there was a problem with this: the problem being that Simmons never knew how to stop talking. But in all honesty, Grif never quite acquired the ability to pay attention. At some point, it became clear in the relationship that Simmons could talk and all the circles he liked, and it wouldn't matter because Grif wasn't listening. 

“Grif? Grif, Are you listening to me?”

“Not really, but I figured you knew that anyways. Telepathy and all that.”

 

“I told you I don't have telepathy.”

“Sure, okay. Listen whatever ability you do have that is letting you hear my thoughts, can you shut it off for a few minutes? I'd like some privacy.”

Simmons snorted. “It's not like you were thinking of anything valuable anyways.” 

Maybe you could also shut up while you're at it, he thought to himself. 

“Unlikely.” Grif shot him a look. “Alright, alright, I'm turning it off.” Grif watched him float towards the other side of the room. He decided that since Simmons was, at the moment, indisposed, Grif would have to take it upon himself to sort out just what the hell was going on. He lifted himself off of his chair and started walking towards the kitchen when he noticed something slightly peculiar, slightly worrying.

Hey, Grif called out in his own mind, you still listening in? Nothing came up from Simmons, in his head or out, so he figured that meant yes. Which gave him time to brush off his other first thought, and pick up a slightly new, slightly more worrying thought.

He was going to have to tell people that Simmons died. I mean, they would probably believe him, it's not like you didn't have proof. But what was he supposed to do, if he didn't believe himself?

Donut would be distraught, Sarge would be angry. His father wouldn't care, his father never cared. Still, Grif had to imagine it wouldn't be easy. And he couldn't imagine that Simmons would enjoy it either. Yet these things had to be done, whether Grif and Simmons enjoyed it or not. That's just the way things were, everything had to be dealt with in due time.

Everything, Grif mused to himself. There were some things that already he could feel affecting him. Some of these things, which didn't even include Simmons’s death, were starting to weigh him down already, like an awful burden that you just can't drop. This weight came down on him in a way that Griff knew would happen eventually, but wished would have happened after he had settled himself down.

 

Grif had started counting again. It sounded like a taboo concept, and in ways it kind of felt like that. Some people had habits, habits that added to their system. Little ticks and personality traits that were just that, traits of their personality. They may be a part of them, but not their whole being. They didn't have to deal with their habits the way Grif did. There was no need to. 

It only happened when Grif was really distraught. At times where things used to be bad, such as when Kai and him moved up from Hawaii all the way to the states, he would count. Measurements, multiples, he preferred even numbers but it didn't really matter in the end as long as he knew how much of what was where and when. Recipes were followed to a T, word count assignments always had the minimum or maximum word count at the exact number that was requested. It was almost too easy to deal with. Almost.

Grif decided to get some help only once he realized he couldn’t deal with it as well as he used to. When things went from time-consuming and bordered on downright irritating, and his insurance finally let him. And when he did it became easy again. For the most part, he could set it aside, but there were always times. For the most part, however, it had devolved into such a state of disinterest, that lately it had felt like counting was only in the back of his mind. He still knew how many servings of Oreos he was eating, he just didn’t care about it enough to stop.

He checked, then double checked the number of beers he still had in the fridge. 16 beers was somehow not enough for the both of them but too much for just himself. In a way, Simmons’s passing had its own silver lining, coupled with the fact that he hasn't actually lost Simmons. He couldn't imagine what would have gone on if he had found out in any other way. Or, if Simmons wasn't currently being occupied with his own type of spirit. Had he really been gone after all...

Eh, fuck it. Grif grabbed two beers, suddenly coming to the realization that 16 beers might not be enough for just him in light of the circumstances. Carrying them back to where Simmons was, he casually turned the bottles around to study the label. Some cheap case that Grif had bought when he was on that road trip with his family last summer. The beer wasn't that old, but it was good enough for Grif to take a trip out of town to get more. At the rate things were going, he'd probably have some left for this weekend. But hey, “Psychic Brewery” was worth the forty minute drive north into a surprisingly southern looking town. 

The label wasn't much to look at, either. The brand name covered most of the front, and the standard stuff in small print on the back. Popping open a top, he laughed at the even smaller print that spun around both sides of the cap. He flipped the cap over in his hand, struggling to read the words that before he never had even given a second glance. 

‘Got a restless spirit?’ *flip* ‘Call our medium:’ The number was barely squeezed on the inside of the top, like it was trying to escape and spill out with the rest of the beer in the glass. 

Grif’s hearty chuckle dried up, and he glanced back at Simmons. Still oblivious, and floating even higher to the ceiling. More curious than he should have been, and more reckless than he had ever, he pulled out his phone. 

After exactly 16 rings (barring the implication that that should have been impossible, Grif counted the rings nonetheless), someone on the other end picked up. “Was wondering when you'd call, Dexter. It's almost noon, you know.” 

Grif choked. “Doc?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you finish a chapter in a restaurant bathroom because you can never catch ten minutes of peace anymore. If something seems off with the formatting or quotations, then that might be the reason why. This story is going in the drabbles because I can only really see it going for about two more chapters, and then I got nothing. What are you gonna do, ya know?
> 
> Next chapter of The Marriage Bet is on the way, it's just double the size I'm used to with chapters, and I've been busy as all hell. Here's to you guys for sticking along though! :D


	10. That One Grocery Store AU Everyone Seems To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever had that one customer that shows up every day, buys the same things, and is so distractingly attractive that it's the only thing keeping you from quitting your job? 
> 
>  
> 
> ...Well, _someone _has to know what I'm talking about.__

47 times. Simmons had seen this guy come by the grocery store where he worked 47 times, and he was starting to get worried. It was amusing at first, watching him peruse the same aisles, get the same items, and somehow always end up at his register. A box of cup noodles, a package of Oreos, and a varying combination of an energy drink and some alcohol. Another day, it would be lunchmeat, vodka, and some nicotine gum. Simmons started counting in November, after a week-long marathon of seeing the guy slide out of Aisle 3 with an armful of chips. The counter was at yesterday 47, and it was mid-December now.

He tapped his screen multiple times, unsure if he should look up at him, or if it would be too awkward. The guy was glancing in multiple directions. At Simmons, the bottle of whiskey and bags of cool ranch Doritos, back to Simmons, the store’s entrance. Simmons groaned inwardly, suddenly paranoid that this could be his first experience with a shoplifter. He waited for the man of the other side of the counter to fish out some crumpled bills and coins. Simmons finally looked up, taking in the man’s features for the 48th time. For a guy that remembered faces about as well as he remembered who ruled France during the 17th century, he knew this one pretty well. Round face, wavy brown hair that had definitely never seen a comb in its life, long eyelashes. Simmons remarked that he had never seen him grin, either because of the tired look on his face, or that whenever they did talk, it was all polite smiles without teeth or feeling. A shame, really. He probably has a really nice smile.

Simmons paused, the details forever cemented in the part of his brain labeled “gay thoughts” (if you’re wondering, its located in the frontal lobe, next to the section that makes you forget your keys right before work). Simmons neglected to mention that he did find the man a little attractive. He fumbled with the mound of cash he was given, trying to keep coins from falling out of his hands while his eyes kept flicking back to the smirk on his face. “I think I probably come here more than I should.”

Simmons snorted. “Me too.” He paused, and the guy raised an eyebrow at him. “Wait, no, I meant me. I come here too often, and I work here.” He added quickly. “I actually hate it here.”

He laughed, surprised. Simmons blushed. He rushed to get the receipt and hand it over when the man spoke up again. “This town can get a little boring, can it?”

“You don’t even know the half of it.” Simmons’s filter didn’t exist at that moment. After 48 visits, though, it was expected. They were almost pals, halfway to “good friends”, even. Simmons sighed, checking the bags and handing them over. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had developed a crush on a friend, or a stranger, and apparently the universe had no intention of letting those times be the last. Still, the man was smiling politely. “What is your name, by the way?”

He shrugged. “My name is Dexter, but it sounds weird, so people just call me Grif. And you?”  
Simmons prayed that no one would come to his register, and meant it more than all the other times where he wished to be left alone at work. Unease made Simmons want to pull Grif to the side. Instead, that section in his frontal lobe took the reins, and thus Simmons’s first attempt at flirting was put into action. “Do you come here often?”

Grif gave him a look that made Simmons wish he could melt into the floor. “What? No, never.” He said sarcastically, then grinned. My god, he does have a perfect smile.

The sound of the conveyor belt moving startled him back into reality. Like any good luck, it always ran out, and one person behind Grif turned into four people and one six-person family. Grif stepped to the side. “What time do you stop working?”

“11 o’clock. Or when I finally die of exhaustion. Whichever comes first.” Simmons muttered that last bit, but Grif barked out another laugh. The woman in front of him huffed, which seemed a little rude until Simmons remembered that he was still working and that people needed their juice and chewing tobacco just as much as the next guy.

Grif backed up, taking the hint. “Well, maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.” He paused. “In fact, I probably will. I mean, as long as you’re not dead.” He rubbed the back of his neck and walked towards the exit. “Nice to meet you.”

The kids in the family, three of them under 6, had started to pull candies off of the shelves for fun, and the hurried complaints from their parents signaled to Simmons that if he didn’t get them done he would no doubt hear about it from his supervisor. Simmons sighed inwardly this time, also acutely aware that if he acted at all like he didn’t love this job he would lose it, and lose the money that came with it. He waited for a card to approve, smiled courteously, and questioned how he got to this point in his life. He had asked himself this question twice already today, but there was nothing wrong with a triple check. That’s college for you, he thought. He should have just been an engineer.

The rush died down, and 11 o’clock was as fast approaching as the countdown to when the Sun would grow large enough to swallow the Earth, which was not fast at all. He swept around his station and paused at his broom caught a receipt. He picked it up, ready to crumple and toss it away, when he noticed something scrawled hastily at the bottom. A phone number? Why would someone need to-

He stopped himself mid-thought as he read the items.

1 Jack Daniels  
3 Family Size Doritos Cool Ranch

He pocketed the receipt. He said he would come by tomorrow, right? So there was no reason for him to take it in the first place. Christ, you’ve only just learned this guy’s name. How desperate can you get? Simmons swept quicker now. At the very least, he reasoned, no one saw him pocket it, so Simmons could wallow in the embarrassment in calm silence.

A voice from behind caused Simmons to jump and drop the broom. “Huh. Maybe I should have waited for you to call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flirt with *one* girl at the grocery store and look what happens to me. I honestly have no self-control over my romantic feelings towards complete strangers. I guess that's just what happens when the "gay thoughts" section takes up half of the left side of your brain.


	11. Emotional Wank (Marriage Bet Deleted Scene)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons lets his mind wander. 
> 
> (This was supposed to take place sometime in-between chapters 10 and 11, but I just couldn't make it fit with the rest of the pacing. So, I set it aside. A while later, and I'm cleaning it up and giving it a proper send-off here.)

Simmons's mouth went dry. He had never thought of it before, not even in passing, but there was no stopping the train now. He adjusted the shower’s temperature but trying to adjust Grif’s shower was as exhausting as convincing a starving tiger that going vegan was really its best option. He settled on “just a bit too hot”.

Simmons cursed angrily. The bet was taking more of a toll on his than he realized. “But Simmons,” a defendant could cry, “pretending to love someone, whilst also having a massive crush on them, and also having to live in the same house as him, how can any of that be difficult?” And that would be a great question if you ignored all the ways it managed to answer itself. The water came close to scalding his side as Simmons rested his back against the wall. In retrospect, Simmons should have made the water much colder, as he had a much bigger problem than just unaddressed feelings.

Simply put, Simmons hadn’t masturbated in at least a month. He just couldn’t bring himself to do it, not in the house, not even when Grif was away. To Simmons, there was an invisible line in the sand and jacking off in another person’s house without their knowledge was certainly crossing it. His skin, or the parts that the water touched, had started to get used to the hotness. He kept a stiff upper lip for a long while, putting the very thought out of his mind before it could reach the rest of his body, and even when that didn’t work, Simmons toughed it out. He would have been proud of this act, too. That is if it wasn’t the most aggravating and unfair thing he’d ever done to himself.

It all changed when Simmons realized his own feelings for Grif. Not the “crossing the line” part, no, if anything that feeling of shame intensified. But the curious thoughts in the back of his mind suddenly became very upfront and center and Simmons found that the longer he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. And there was no way could he admit his feelings, so how did anyone expect him to tell Grif that Simmons wanted to pretend to be a married couple in every way possible? It’s not like Grif would oblige, would push him up against the wall or couch, carefully wedging a leg between Simmons’s thighs.

Simmons cursed again, softer this time. He bit the inside of his cheek. Tried to rationalize: Grif isn’t home, everyone’s done it in the shower at least once, he could always repent to whatever deity he needed to after this was all over. A little bit won’t hurt. A hand, his hand, drifted down wet skin as he settled into his fantasy. Grif was definitely the type to push Simmons up against the wall, he had that kind of strength. He carefully glided his hand over his wet erection, the early pinpricks of long-denied pleasure pushing away the shame, as Simmons imagined Grif pressing against him, pushing his legs far open now and shoving a hand into his pants.

Simmons groaned, groping himself the way he wanted Grif to, prodding at sensitive areas and holding back several whimpers. All the while, Grif teased him. Embarrassing questions about why he waited so long, and how fast he had caved under Grif’s touch, and oh, Simmons, you’re not gonna last very long, are you? It made Simmons face burn hotter and he let himself whimper now, sure that no one could hear him over the sound of the shower. This Grif still held the grin that Simmons was forced to see every day, but there was a glint of something else in the eyes that he envisioned. It was energetic, downright animalistic. The hand on his cock picked up its speed, and Simmons swore he could hear Grif giggle at the resulting moan.

Simmons’s legs shook. He really wasn’t going to last long. He turned over, now facing the wall. He dragged his fingers up to the head, massaging the underside in a way that elicited a gasp from him as his fantasy had Grif pressed against his back. Grif leaned over to kiss and suck on the back of Simmons’s neck, his hands never stopping their movements. Simmons twitched as he desperately tried to make his imagination a reality. A line of something that definitely wasn’t water was running down the base of Simmons’s erection as Grif coaxed him towards letting go. His voice was velvet in Simmons’s ear, telling him that it was alright, that he looked so good like this, just let it happen. Simmons heard words were falling out of his own mouth, and he was powerless to stop the whispered pleas.

It had only been minutes but Simmons felt the time drag through like years before the pleasure mounted and coiled in his groin. All the while, Grif’s unrelenting teasing turned into him demanding that Simmons come, and Simmons didn’t think about embarrassing that moan must have sounded as he bucked into his hands. The tension strung tighter, hotter, wetter until it snapped, bringing forth a torrent of curses and cries much louder than the spray of the shower. He let out a few shaky breaths as the aftershocks rippled through him. Pushing one arm up to steady himself, he stood like that for a few minutes, letting the shower wash away the evidence. The water was much cooler now, though he wasn’t sure whether that was due to the water heater giving out or Simmons’s own body temperature rising at least ten degrees.

Later, as he was toweling himself off, Simmons heard a door opening. He raised his head. Strange, it’s a little too early for Grif to be home, isn’t it? He picked up his phone and checked the time. Only half an hour, but still. Grif didn’t say anything as he walked past the bathroom, so Simmons quickly wrapped a towel around his waist and called out the bathroom door. “Hey, what’re doing so home early? I thought-” he stopped talking to stare at Grif.

Stranger still. Grif didn’t look well. His face was flushed, one hand waving awkwardly at Simmons, the other shoved deep into his pants pocket. Simmons raised an eyebrow at him. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah-” Grif interrupted himself to cough, “work, uh, work got me off- I mean, work let me off early cause of there’s gonna be another storm tonight. Figured I wouldn’t make you worry like before.” He didn’t meet Simmons’s eyes.

Seconds passed in the way they usually do when they make up awkward silences, before Simmons shrugged. “At least you’re not stuck in it this time.” He shivered, the steam quickly leaving the bathroom. “Uh, do you mind if I head to our room real quick? My clothes are in there.”

Another second, then Grif jumped back like he had touched a live wire. “Yeah, yeah! I’ll just be in the kitchen then,” he sputtered, quickly backing up, “getting something to eat. I mean, I love to eat, so it makes sense that I would be going to the kitchen.”

Simmons nodded slowly, none of the pieces coming together for him. “Riiight.” He watched Grif walk away, that one hand still resting in his pocket. Come to think of it, Simmons was kinda hungry, too. He carried his phone with him to their room, searching for recipes that were quick. As appetizing as it sounded, neither of them could live off of oreo pie. In the midst of his searching, Simmons noticed how silent Grif had been since he had walked into the kitchen.

Simmons shrugged it off. As paranoid as he was, he doubted that there was any way Grif knew. And as far as anyone else was concerned, that line in the sand remained pristine and obviously non-crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment when you accidentally spell "Marriage" wrong and then have a split second panic about whether one of your most popular fics actually has a misspelled title... 
> 
> (I spelled marriage wrong while I was writing this and scared myself again. send help)


End file.
